Other People's Houses, page 25
Someone had clearly propped the front door open, because now a steady stream of friends with food and presents were arriving, and Sara’s Grand Plan was revealed in all its genius. Iris caught her eye across the kitchen and smiled tightly, raising the second glass of champagne that had miraculously appeared in her hand. Sara looked back at her for a moment, then looked away. She’d wanted so much for this day, and now she just wanted it to be over.
An hour later the party was in full swing. Two different sets of people had brought very small babies, who were being passed around like sleeping loaves of bread. Iris had one on her lap at that moment, but wasn’t sure whose it was. It appeared to be a girl, based on the pink bunny cap, but you could never tell with newborns. A small roar came from the front room as someone showed up with an even more exciting small thing, a three-month-old dachshund puppy, and Iris was starting to feel a little bit tipsy. She could see Frances’s cake on the table and resolved to go get herself a piece.
Sara came over and knelt by her chair. “Are you having fun?” As far as everyone else was concerned the hostess was having a fantastic time, but Iris could see her wife was very much a working actress.
Iris nodded, and was about to try to make peace when suddenly they heard raised voices from the other room. A glass shattered. Anne had arrived.
* * *
• • •
As Sara and Iris came into the front room, Charlie was hissing at his wife, “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“I was invited,” she replied, from where she knelt on the floor, picking up the pieces of the glass he’d dropped. “Iris is more my friend than she is yours.”
“I think you forfeited all connection to the neighborhood when you slept around, Anne,” said Charlie, who’d clearly had more than a few glasses of wine. Several people were trapped at the far side of the living room, where they had been chatting in a small group before Charlie and Anne had collided at the front door. They looked plaintively at Sara, hoping for an airlift.
Sara stepped between them. “Hi, guys, how about you take this outside?”
Anne looked apologetic, but Charlie was past it. “How about this bitch just leaves, if her legs come together sufficiently for walking?”
“Wow,” said a voice from across the room, although it wasn’t clear who had said it.
Sara firmed up her voice a little. “Charlie, this isn’t the place for this. We’re all here to celebrate Iris’s birthday, and there are lots of little kids here, including yours, so let’s just table this discussion for now.” She touched his arm, but he shook her off.
“You broke my heart, Anne.” He leaned forward and poked his wife in the throat, making her step back. “I’ve loved you ever since we met, and we have kids, and they love you, too, and you just. Don’t. Give. A. Shit. Do you?”
“I do,” Anne whispered, her face pale, as she turned to leave. “I’m so sorry, Sara, I shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s OK, Anne,” said Sara. She turned as she felt Iris’s hand on her elbow. Her wife was right behind her, not a hell of a lot less drunk than Charlie. “What the heck’s going on?” she whispered in Sara’s ear. Sara turned up her palms, watching Charlie’s face carefully.
“It’s not OK. It’s so fucking messed up, it’s beyond comprehension,” he said loudly, grabbing Anne by the arm.
Bill showed up, having just diverted a set of children who were heading in this direction. “Hey, guys, you can be heard in the garden, and the kids are getting worried.”
“Fuck off, Bill. Your wife left you, too, right? Maybe there’s something wrong with the water on the street. It turns wives into whores.” Charlie wavered slightly, but wouldn’t let go of Anne. “Hey, Anne, maybe we could go home for another guilt fuck like the other day, before I found out why you were suddenly so hot for me.” Tears came into his eyes. “I was so happy.”
“Let me go, Charlie,” said Anne, pulling away. “You want me to leave, and I want to go. We’ll talk later when you sober up.”
“No, let’s talk now,” he said, and started dragging her out of the front door. “I want to talk now.”
Bill looked over at Michael, who had appeared with Frances, and all of them followed Charlie and Anne out into the street, with Iris in tow. Sara closed the front door behind them, although several faces appeared at the windows. Now all the neighbors were outside, with all their kids inside. What could possibly go wrong? Sara and Frances both kept looking back at the house, torn between competing responsibilities.
Bill tried to reason with Charlie. “Charlie, let her go for now. You guys can talk another time. Come in and have some coffee, and something to eat.”
Charlie turned on him. “You’re such a nice guy, Billy, why did your wife leave, eh? Why did Julie run off? Maybe we’re too nice, that’s our problem.”
Bill ignored him. “Yeah, we’re awesome, Charlie. Let’s go get something to eat, yeah?”
“No, but really, where did Julie go, Bill? She was here and then she wasn’t. Is she fucking some other guy, Bill, is that it? Or some other woman? Or two other women? Or did she just get sick of the same old cock, was that the problem?”
“Jesus, Charlie, get a fucking grip,” said Michael, who could see Bill was starting to get angry. “You and your wife are having a problem right now, don’t drag us into it.”
“Shut up, Michael. Just because you and your fat wife have it all together, everything perfect. Of course you never have sex anymore . . .”
Anne pulled away from Charlie, suddenly, and started down the street, tears streaming down her face. Frances walked quickly after her. “Anne, let me drive you home.”
“No!” shouted Charlie. “Let her walk! Let her stumble into traffic right under a tractor trailer! I wish you were dead, Anne. I really fucking do.” He turned to Bill. “Don’t you wish your wife was dead, too, Bill? Better dead than in someone else’s bed, right?” He began to laugh. “That rhymes.”
Bill suddenly stepped forward and punched Charlie with enough force to lift him right off his feet. He landed on his back and lay there, stunned and suddenly sober.
“My wife is nearly dead, you asshole,” hissed Bill, his fist still clenched. “My wife has been in another state for three months getting treated for cancer and it’s killing her.” He was furious. “And I’m stuck here, trying to hold it together for Lucas, because he’s only four years old and Julie wanted to go face her shit alone, because she thought he needed me more than she did. He thinks she’s working on a movie somewhere, and twice a day she drags herself into clothes and puts on a fucking wig and props her ass up on a pillow and Skypes him so he knows how much she loves both of us. We’re doing our fucking job, like you should be. Don’t you think I’d rather she was with some other man? I would give my fucking arm for Julie to be having an affair, instead of fighting for her life all alone in fucking Minnesota . . .”
“Daddy?” A small voice came from the doorway, and they all turned to see Lucas heading out of the house. “You said the F word!” He looked shocked, but had clearly only heard the last few words.
Bill looked at his son. His face relaxed, and those close enough could see the effort it took. Lucas had no idea. Bill held out his hand. “Hey, chief. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Can we call Mommy? I want to tell her you said the F word.” He noticed Charlie on the ground and hesitated. Then he went over, as little children will. “Did you fall over?” He stuck out his hand to help, but Charlie just looked at him for a moment and then lay back down on the grass.
Lucas frowned and turned to his dad, who picked him up and held him close. “Charlie’s fine, Lucas, don’t worry about it. Shall we go call Mom so you can tell on me?” They started to walk away, skirting Charlie where he was on the grass, shamed and silent.
“That was a great party, Daddy,” Lucas’s little voice piped back. “Did you see me eating cake?”
“Yeah, buddy. Was it good?”
“Yeah. Mommy’s going to be so mad with you for swearing.” The little boy giggled, resting his head on his father’s shoulder, his hand gathering up the fabric of his daddy’s T-shirt and holding it tight.
They crossed the road and walked away. Charlie sat up, wiping his mouth and weeping. Anne pulled open the car door and Frances went around to the driver’s side. Iris, Michael, and Sara just stood there. Iris wasn’t feeling so good.
A short man walked up, pushing a large trolley.
“Are either of you Sara?”
Sara nodded.
“I’ve got your bouncy castle,” he said. He made an apologetic face. “I know you wanted Spiderman, but some studio exec threw a fit and got the last one. What you have here is a deluxe.” He stressed the word deluxe. “Elsa’s Frozen Castle.” He paused, aware that this might not fly if this was a boys-only party. “With a giant Olaf thrown in gratis. No charge for the six-foot snowman.”
Iris suddenly leaned forward and threw up on the grass.
There was a short pause, then the bouncy castle guy said, “Fine. No snowman, then.”
Thirty-four.
Frances woke up the next day with an emotional hangover. She closed her eyes and lay in bed for a moment, not ready to face the day. Driving Anne home had turned out to be the last straw. She’d lost patience for the other woman, maybe at the worst moment to do so. But hey, Anne’s husband had just told the neighborhood she was fat and had no sex life and that was, you know, awkward.
Anne was temporarily staying at the Palazzo, an apartment building across the street from the park where the kids played soccer on Saturdays. The Palazzo was in many ways the secret long-stay hotel Angelenos never told tourists about. Some people lived there year-round, sure, but a large part of its business was during pilot season, and in general it served the Industry. Studios owned apartments there and would put up actors and directors when they needed to. People would rent furnished apartments for three or four months while shooting a pilot, or some other short-lived project. The building was also across the street from the Grove, a big outdoor mall, and was painted the kind of ochre normally seen in hotel paintings of the Italian Riviera. It was a color not found in nature, yet somehow it worked.
Anne had basically lost her shit all the way from Iris’s party to the Palazzo. The security guard waved them into the parking lot with not even the slightest flicker at the sounds of distress coming from inside the car, having seen it all several times. Anne’s apartment was a two bedroom on the ground floor, dark and cool and decorated in timeless and faceless style. She’d barely made a mark on it.
When Frances had looked in the fridge hoping to make Anne a cup of tea or something, she found literally nothing. The cupboards were also entirely bare.
“What on earth have you been eating, Anne?” she asked.
Anne had reached the staring portion of her distress, and turned her head toward her friend. “I go across the street when I get hungry.” She’d stopped crying, but her eyelids were puffy and for the first time that Frances could remember, she looked like shit. “Farmer’s Market, you know.”
Frances nodded. “Are you hungry now?”
Anne shook her head. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She went into the bathroom and Frances heard the toilet seat hit the tank, but then there was silence. Frances went and stood at the window, looking out through the manicured greenery. It was quiet out there, the occasional and distant ping of the elevator the only sound to be heard over the ever-present hum of pool pumps. A slender girl in sweatpants and furry boots came out through a door, leading the world’s smallest dog on the world’s thinnest leash. It looked like she’d tied a cotton ball to a piece of dental floss. Frances watched the dog poop a lentil, then sit and snooze while the girl conducted a lengthy operation on her cell phone.
“I’ve got nothing to throw up,” Anne said, returning. “I can’t breathe properly. Do you think I should go to the ER?” She sat on the edge of the overstuffed coral sofa.
Frances turned and looked at her. “You’re having a panic attack, and your blood sugar is zero. Go get something to eat and ask for a paper bag to put it in, then you’ll have something to breathe into.” She turned to go.
Anne said, “Please don’t leave me.”
Frances said, with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice, “Look, Anne, I don’t want to kick you when you’re down, but you need to get it together.”
Anne’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re angry with me.”
“I’m angrier with your husband, but seeing as you’re the one that put him into this filthy mood then I guess I’m a little angry with you, too. But now I need to get back to my kids, and I can’t stay and hold your hand. Call your mom. Call your brothers. Pull it together, Anne.”
She’d walked out knowing Anne wasn’t going to pull it together, and comfortable with the fact that she really didn’t give a fuck.
Now, the next morning, Frances felt exhausted. She turned her head to look at Michael and found him already awake and looking at her.
“‘Jesus wept,’” she said. “You scared me.”
“Score,” he replied, smiling.
“Why are you awake? Are you OK?” She pulled her hand out from under the sheets and stroked his head. His face was so dear to her, and so familiar.
“Yeah. Yesterday sucked. I had bad dreams about it.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s not do that to each other. Let’s grow old and be boring together forever.” She paused. “It was a bit embarrassing.”
“The massive revelation that we don’t have a lot of sex?”
She nodded.
He shrugged. “I’m happy, are you happy?” She nodded. “Then fuck the neighbors, who gives a shit what they think?” He looked closely at her. “Do you think Charlie knew there was a problem before?” Frances said nothing, so he continued. “What if you’re really cheating on me this whole time, and just doing a really good job of hiding it?”
She laughed. “The idea of willingly taking my clothes off in front of another person is absurd. If you and I divorced, I would sew my vagina shut, get fifteen cats, and let myself go completely.”
Michael laughed. “That seems extreme. You’re wonderful. I expect you would be a hot commodity on the open market.”
Frances rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because an extra thirty pounds and three kids is what all single men want. I can read the dating profile now: Single man seeks overweight, middle-aged woman to ignore his input while raising her children. Willing to share school run and homework duties in return for annual blow job (not guaranteed).” She sat up and threw back the covers. “And Playboy called me the other day hoping I could make time for a centerfold shoot.” She stood and faced him, naked and smiling. “Because this”—she indicated her gentle rolls—“is incredibly hot.”
“I love looking at you.”
“You’re used to it.”
“That’s true. I’m used to it and I love it.”
Frances sat back down and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I went to a sex shop the other day and bought a vibrator and some fur-lined handcuffs.”
Michael burst out laughing. “My penis isn’t good enough for you?”
Frances reached under the covers. “It’s totally fine, but I don’t feel it vibrating.” There was a pause, then she smiled. “That isn’t vibrating.”
“Look, it’s movement. Give me a break.”
“Mommy!!!” Lally’s voice rang down the hall.
“And . . . that’s you,” said Michael, snuggling under the sheets. “Good luck hiding that shit from the kids, by the way.”
* * *
• • •
Down the street Charlie was horribly hungover and ashamed of himself. It was not a good combination, and he was wondering if he would ever feel like eating again, or be able to face the outside world. Sadly, sheltering in place was not an option in this particular battle.
“Hey, Theo,” he said to his son, gently shaking the sleeping child. “It’s time to get up for school.” Theo grunted and pulled the covers over his head. “Come on, buddy, time to shake a leg. Do you want some OJ?” The lump shook its head.
Charlie wandered down the hall to Kate’s room, and found her already dressed and sitting on her floor, playing with her sizeable collection of little animal figures. There were ponies, weirdly big-headed animals of all varieties, and the obligatory elongated dolls with odd makeup on. He didn’t know what they were called, and thought they looked like extras in a German fetish movie, but who was he to judge?
“You’re already dressed,” he said, surprised. Kate nodded, but didn’t say anything. “Do you want some breakfast?” She shook her head. “Toast?” No. “Eggs?” No. “Cheerios?”
Finally, she turned to look at him, and frowned. “No thanks, Daddy. I’m not hungry. I woke up really early and got myself something already.”
“You did?” She nodded, already back at her game. “OK, well, great. Time for school in twenty minutes or so, OK?”
She looked back at him. “Are you taking us?”
“Do you want me to?”
Back to the dolls. “No. I like when Frances takes us.”
OK. He heard noise from Theo’s room, and went back there. Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed pulling on his socks, more or less dressed. His eyes were swollen, and Charlie stepped over to feel his forehead. Theo ducked his head away, and frowned at his dad. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “How long until school?”
“About twenty minutes.”
